


the more i change (the more things stay the same)

by shortitude



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Daisy Is The Only Marvel Superhero, Existential Angst, F/M, First Kiss, Resolved Sexual Tension, Team Dynamics, change, friends-to-lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-08 13:16:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8846530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shortitude/pseuds/shortitude
Summary: Daisy Johnson returns to SHIELD. Some things haven't changed. She has.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zauberer_sirin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/gifts), [hamsterfactor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hamsterfactor/gifts).



> I don't often post fics for this ship although it's my favorite ever, because I tend to just hold on and wait until inspiration strikes. I think it punched me in the gut this time, and went something like this: 'Daisy gets to trash all the assholes who were assholes to her in s4 and then Coulson and her make out'. In the middle of all that, Elena decided to interfere and be A Helpful Pal, because she is quite honestly the only other good thing about the show right now so it was only right.
> 
> A fic with all the salt, some of the sadness (okay a lot), and a happy ending. If you're wondering. (PS I haven't watched the latest episode so all this is vague speculation.)

1.

 

She has been back on board, accepted into the folds of a SHIELD that isn't hers, for almost two days now. It's her second night sleeping in her room, which isn't the room of former Agent Daisy Johnson, because they had to repurpose that one back in month three of her absence, said Fitz, but it's a room. The hula girl bobbing side to side on her bedside table makes it as much hers as it did the bunk on the plane, the two vans she lived in; she marks her territory with a tiny doll, and pretends she's not still the child who used to be swapped from family to family deep at heart.

But this is Agent Quake's room, and Agent Quake can't sleep in it. 

It's the second night, it's not yet a pattern, she can't claim it. It's only a coincidence that there's still adrenaline rushing slowly out of her veins, and she can't sleep, but so what? Big deal. That's something she's used to by now. 

Staring at the white ceiling of her new Agent Quake room, Daisy thinks about object permanence. Not in cool, science-y terms like Simmons would, but in her own way.

Things seem to have stayed the same. The same kitchen area on the base, the same Grumpy Cat mug she snuck in there for Coulson to find, the same labs. Rooms were still divided the same, even if hers was now a different one. The same training area, same mats, same smirk on May's face when she flipped a cadet over and made the rest gasp with admiration. The same bickering in the garage before a mission, the same tarpoline covering Lola. 

Objects and people, it seems to her, have stayed more or less the same. Maybe it's her. She's changed. 

The common room, with its couches and video games, feels like an unwelcoming place. The garage, cold and dark. Even the quinjet vibrates like a stranger under her fingertips. 

SHIELD has moved on without her. She has changed without it. They are like two friends, grown apart and trying to scramble for similarities left behind. 

Or maybe it's still her.

 

2.

She hasn't held grudges before. How could she have? She would've been left with a long list of people to resent, and institutions. Before this, she'd moved from one hardship to the next with a careful shrug, reminding herself that it could be worse. 

But now she holds onto it like onto a vice. 

It happens when she's given her first check-up since returning to the team. Simmons is checking her vitals, and making her usual rambling commentary that Daisy once found endearing, only this time it's like nails on a chalkboard. Artificial snow being rubbed together. 

"--pressure is good. And your bones are doing better," Simmons says. 

_Scrrr, scrrr._

"--still need to keep them under control, and maybe if you could not self-medicate..." 

"Simmons." The woman shuts up, mercifully, and Daisy nurses a sudden headache. That's resentment for you. "You may not understand this, with your bazillion PhDs, but access to healthcare isn't a _thing_ everyone has. I know you're mad about me leaving, you get to be. But you don't get to call me out on it, you don't get to sit in an ivory tower and criticise people for not being as privileged as you."

Silence. The crystal containers in the room rattle faintly. Simmons looks pale, and Daisy thinks good.

"Wow." Simmons licks her lips and lowers her gaze. Quietly she adds, "I'm sorry. Okay. Let's...let's check your blood pressure and you're good to go..."

In the deafening silence that follows, Daisy remembers other times when she would've taken Simmons' quips for witty banter and responded in turn. But she spent a week camping with homeless Inhumans in Chicago, and she doesn't feel as sweet and indulgent of those antics anymore.

 

2.

It's her first mission that reminds her that she doesn't play by SHIELD's rules anymore, because they aren't rules she agrees with.

The tagging system makes her mouth sour, and she shares looks with Elena while Mace extols the virtues of keeping Inhumans in check, quoting himself like a good example of it and all.

The mission itself is not meant to go to hell in a habdbasket, but a surprise appearance from the Wardogs puts a damper on the mood. She does what Coulson calls 'her self-sacrificing thing' and shoves her team out of the way and takes them out.

Of all people to call her out on it, she doesn't expect it to be Fitz. He gets to her on the plane, while she's briefing Coulson and Mack about the fight, sitting still as Fitz patches her up. He mutters, he scoffs, he huffs indignantly in her ear while she speaks, until she gets fed up.

"You wanna say something, say it," she cuts in, forgets about the mission report, because she's bruised and her ego can't take any more hits.

 "You haven't changed at all!" Fitz shoots back, his voice cracking. "Still pushing everyone away,"

 "Well you make it so easy."

 "The rest of us can fight just as much as you can, Daisy,"

 "You shouldn't have to, what else am I here for?"

 "So your solution is to abuse your powers until it hurts you permanently? It's been a year since Lincoln, stop recklessly trying to get yourself killed."

 Daisy actually jolts backwards as if flinching, noticing in the corners of her eyes that Coulson and Mack tense up and look ready to lean in to help. But she doesn't deserve that yet, and someone needs to see how hypocrisy reeks between them.

 "When Simmons was gone," she starts off quietly, leading to a low hiss, "did I _ever_ tell you to just get over it?"

 Fitz gapes at her, speechless for a moment, taking a few seconds to sober up. "I-"

Daisy doesn't let him. "Has anyone in the history of ever told someone dealing with grief to get over it already and had success? So I'm more frantic about using the gifts I have to keep people safe, so what? You're building a murderbot for the same reason and yet you get to get away with no lecture?"

"Aida isn't a murderbot--"

"Ultron, Fitz! You're basically creating a new Ultron, but no, please, tell me how I'm doing a bad job of keeping people safe and fighting my own battles, tell me how my coping isn't good because it's not yours." She takes the bandages from his hand, and gets off the table with a hop. "I'll drop the report on your table in twenty, I need some air," she tells Coulson, and leaves the room.

 

2.5.

This stays the same. The dark interior, the leather seating, the noise cancellation in the windows. Nothing vibrates here, not even her sudden rage, until the door is open and she is barrelled over by Phil's familiar hum.

"Not exactly a meadow of fresh air in here," he points out.

She tilts her head at him, regards him quietly; the tension, the worry, the softness, she doesn't think she deserves any of it. Then she looks at the front seat, and points out the air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror. "It's evergreen, actually."

They share a soft smile. He looks at the empty seat in front of him, and she says it even though it makes her miss a simpler time so acutely it hurts. "Slide on in, AC."

He closes the door behind them, and they sit in her sanctuary in silence, in pleasant companionship, for a while.

After what feels like hours, Coulson speaks. "You get to mourn however you want."

A knot pulls loose. "Thank you," she whispers. It's not Lincoln that she mourns, it's the world before Hive wracked her brains up, before the Accords, before the running away. But that's her own selfish secret.

"But for the record, it really isn't easy for the people who love you to watch you suffer."

It becomes hard for her to tell if anyone still does, honestly. She's done bad things, surely the affection is gone as a form of punishment. But she looks at Coulson, the honesty in his blue eyes, and is proven wrong. Someone still does.

"You shouldn't get injured because of me," she murmurs finally. "It's happened enough already. It's enough."

"Daisy," he says, not like he used to say Skye. "You're part of a team again. You get to fall back on us."

"Am I?" She's wary all over. "It doesn't feel like some people want me back. Maybe I should go,"

"No." Softly, he adds, "I know a handful of people who still do. You're a team member to them. Always have been, even when you weren't here."

She wonders, sometimes, how subtle he thinks he is. How much that handful of people is just one finger. Her metaphors get sloppy, she's tired, and being welcomed back into the fold, even if its just Coulson who does it, feels soft and nice. Maybe it's because it's Coulson doing it.

"Stay?" She's the one who asks.

He smiles, pulls out a package of twizzlers, and stays.

 

3.

With May, direct approach always works better than subterfuge, so Daisy decides to go for that the first time they face each other on the training mats. Clear the air.

"I appreciate what you do for me as a mentor, May, but you and I are two different people and we deal with grief different."

May's eyebrow raises, expectantly.

"I've already tried following your steps to get through this. It didn't work."

A long silence, as everything in her life is not tense silences. Then May sighs, shrugs, and steps onto the mat. "You'll find yours, then."

They leave it at that. Not a rebuilt bridge, but mended enough. As much as it can be.

Next time they return from a mission, they'll go have coffee at that place Andrew liked, and the silence will be better that time.

 

3.5.

She starts actively avoiding the common areas sometime after her outburst at Fitz, keeping to her room and the places they require her to be, like the training area or the briefing rooms.

She knows that tensions run high, and most of the newcomers to the team don't quite understand how this newbie Inhuman can act like she has so much rapport with everyone. She should be doing everything in her power to avoid suspicion, integrating with the group as seamlessly as she'd done it the first time.

Only she feels more like a sore thumb now that before, not because she's the intruder but because perhaps, in some way, when it comes to Inhuman business, _they are_.

Back at St. Agnes, she'd always known when it was a bad idea to push the boundaries of the nuns' patience, and that was not after being returned for the nth time. She'd done it anyway, rebelling against an establishment that called her unfit to be loved for a long time, even if just behind her back.

In the same way, she rebels now.

Sneaking into the kitchens for a midnight snack is a bad idea when there's at least five people on base who are charged with monitoring her, but she does it anyway because she skipped dinner.

She's in the process of making herself a sandwich, bottle of mayo in her hand, when someone clicks their tongue behind her to draw her attention. With a jolt, she realises it's Coulson -- he looks disappointed. It hurts her more than she can explain.

"At least use handmade instead of the bottled one," he says, sighing.

It takes Daisy a moment. "The mayo? You're upset about my mayo choices?!"

"You know how bad that is for you, right?"

She cracks a smile. Unreal. "I saw you inhale three powdered donuts this afternoon, AC."

"Artisan donuts," he points out. He's lying, of course, they both know they were gas station donuts because she was there when he bought them, lending him her spare change. 

"I'm too hungry to take lip from you about mayo."

Coulson smiles softly and makes his way to the counter. "Hmm. Sure. But I was planning to make grilled cheese sandwiches, in case you're interested."

It's half past two in the morning, no way was he planning a snack that elaborate. Then again, it's Coulson. She's seen him get easily excited over the presence of salted caramel pie on a diner's menu before. He would.

She gives the mayo bottle a look, then sets it down on the counter. Coulson snatches it away and shoves it back in the fridge. "You'll thank me later."

"When I'm older and wiser?"

"I was planning on bit having to wait that long."

They share a smile, and Daisy can't help but think they're both dorks. She shakes herself out of it. "So should I close my eyes? Secret recipe and all?"

He weighs this question for a while, and then opens the fridge doors again. "I think you're ready for the secret."

_What? Why? No, Coulson, that's your special recipe, save it for someone who matters. Someone important, someone -- willing to risk losing you._

Coulson starts talking again. "My mother used to make me this whenever I was unsettled by something. After we lost my dad...she made me this." Daisy bites her lip, can't help but feeling sad at the memory of a young Phil Coulson, mourning his father with a solemn look.

"Comfort food?"

He shakes his head. "More like...grieving food."

She shakes a little. Wraps her arms around herself quickly to stop. "That time, on the bus, were you trying to -"

"Help you grieve?" He presses his lips together. "No. That is a road I know we take on our own, each in our own way. Who was I to force you to adopt my methods, when they wouldn't work? I just wanted to feed you."

She feels breathless for a moment, as if floating again but without static electricity for help. A thank you threatens to rip out of her throat, together with a sob, but Coulson hands her a jar of honey and a jar of mustard.

"Come on. I need a sous-chef."

She stares at the jars and then mumbles, "Honey-mustard? That's the secret?"

Coulson smile fades to a serious look. "You realise that if you divulge it, I'll be forced to kill you."

Daisy's cheeks hurt from the grin that follows. "Course, sir."

They cook.

 

4.

 "I've been thinking about changes," says Daisy, mid-drive.

 Her travel partners look at her at that, Mack from the driver's seat through the mirror and Elena from the passenger's side, twisted around to see her better.

 There's panic in their eyes, that Daisy takes with a small hint of amusement. "Not about you guys boning."

 "Boning?" Mack croaks out, as if insulted by the word. Elena looks smug.

 "About friendships. Team dynamics. I've seen this team go through more changes than I've had my hair cut. Every time I think something finally drives the last nail into the coffin, I'm proven wrong. Some things, we can get back from, even if it's different."

 "Boning?" Mack repeats. Elena smack his shoulder.

 "She means she forgives you for being a dick to her, big turtle," she clarifies, and then turns to Daisy. "He's sorry for being a dick too, Daisy. He's been rehearsing in the mirror how to tell you he's glad to be your partner again, but he's slow like a turtle sometimes." Her smile is very revealing and Daisy wants to laugh. "Not always a bad thing."

 "Oh, god, just -" Mack whispers intensely, and Elena raises her voice above his,

 "Especially when we bone."

 "Why," Mack asks dryly, and hits the accelerator.

 Daisy laughs this time. Elena joins in. She spots a smile on Mack's face in the rearview mirror.

 "So," Elena drawls after a while of driving in silence, "does that mean that you've started to think about other relationships changing too?"

 "I thought you were a taken woman," Daisy jokes.

The thing about Elena is that her wit is as quick as her attacks. And sometimes, does as much damage. "Oh no, I meant about you and Coulson."

Across from her, having been listening to the entire discussion with an amused smile until now, Coulson pales.

Elena isn't done yet. "Because I really think it would do you good to bone."

She chokes on her own spit. Coulson flushes and stares at the upcoming mission report. Mack doesn't stop laughing under his breath until they reach their destination.

 

5.

The thing is, Elena isn't wrong. She has noticed that every relationship she's had with the members of her initial team has shifted, evolved or devolved, and Coulson hadn't been spared that.

But the difference was that now, with him it was easier. They were equals, more than ever. They'd helped each other so often by now that rank no longer mattered; she forgot sometimes that there had ever been a time when he'd been her director. Or a time when he'd wanted her to be his.

Most of all it was easy to be warm around him. To be her old self, relaxed enough to flirt and joke around, and highly interested in the one guy in the suit. Oh yes, that hadn't dimmed with time. If anything, it was stronger now.

But, it felt, as always there were obstacles. That hadn't changed at all. This one comes with the ugly unspoken rule of no human-Inhuman relationships allowed on SHIELD; a rule she’s been helping Yo-Yo and Mack sidestep for a while now. She has no doubt that they’d help her do the same, especially since Elena’s taken an interest in Daisy’s love life now that they both have the time to breathe. But as much as she loves them for it, she doesn’t want to use her former-and-now-current-again-partner and her Inhuman right-hand-woman as matchmakers.

Typical. They _would_ be the kind of people who, once in a relationship, believe it’s their duty to ensure all their friends go through the same experience.

The thing is, Daisy knows she won’t. Wouldn’t. It’s impossible, see, first of all because of all of her history. Possibly because of the second party’s history too. Brushes with death, actual death (however temporary), changing from who they used to be. Losing loved ones, watching them die, watching them sacrifice themselves -- _having_ someone to lose is terrifying enough. Thinking about the one person who’d make the difference, even more.

She doesn’t regret her past relationships. They shaped her, in a way, and she didn’t exactly run away from the last one like a wounded animal. But with Coulson (and acknowledging his name is already hard) it would be different. With Miles and Lincoln, she’d tried because she’d though ‘it could be something beautiful’. With Coulson, she knows it would be. With them, she went into the relationship with curiosity for the future and a bit of apprehension, but with Coulson -- fuck, with Phil -- she knows what that would be. She can see a future by his side already perfectly formed, yet not devoid of surprises. She can see _her_ future at his side, and it makes sticking around a necessity, a dangerous one.

We can’t avoid having attachments, as it turns out, was always about this. Years ago, confronted with the information, Coulson would’ve called it the strings of the Universe pulling their destinies together, and Daisy would’ve laughed at the thought of the Universe giving a shit and destiny being a thing. Now, she’d rather just call it love.

But, unfortunately, she doesn’t know if he would too. Not in the same way.

Which is why it surprises her, in a way, to find that her legs lead her up to his private office on the plane when the mission is over. His office turns out to be nothing more than his room on the plane, with just a pull-out couch acting as a bed because he’s neat like that now; no more luxury for Agent Coulson.

It’s funny, she thinks, had she been the Director, this is what her office would’ve looked like.

 _Stop that before you start hearteyeing him, loser,_ she tells herself, and covers it with a wide grin. “So, sorry about Yo-Yo. She’s insufferable ever since I can actually understand her.”

He blushes a little bit, and waves it off with a smile. ( _Shouldn’t have reminded him, Daisy, great job._ ) “I’m pretty sure she’s always been like this, you just have the pleasure of understanding her better.”

“Right, I forgot you’re excellent at Spanish.”

“I wouldn’t say excellent - “

“No, but the good old Commander would’ve,” she jokes.

He smirks, although there’s a hint of hesitance in his expression before saying, “Classified.”

Her heart’s beating faster now, and if she checked she’d find her palms sweaty. “You’re not embarrassed, are you? About Elena saying you and I - that we should - “

He lifts his hands in surrender, and shrugs uneasily, avoiding her gaze and speaking fast. “I think she mentioned that it was you it would benefit, I don’t think I was involved in her suggestion at all, so you don’t need to feel like you have to - “

“But I want to.”

“- explain. Want to what?”

She pauses. _Want to bone you_ , would be such a trite answer. “To apologize. For her putting you on the spot like that.”

“We’re all Agents here, this kind of teasing is encourage and healthy.”

“Wow, did you read that in the SHIELD manual?”

Coulson lets out a laugh, and rubs his neck. He’s uncomfortable, she’s making him uncomfortable. Great job, Daisy. “No, the manual was written by a prude with a pen.”

“Nice alliteration.”

“Thanks.”

She’s fiddling with the sleeves of her suit, suddenly feeling ridiculous in it, with the zipper pulled down enough to air out certain areas of her body - because whoever designed her suit never accounted for boob sweat? - standing in his office-room and dancing around the elephant in the room.

 _Fuck it, come on, bandaid this,_ she tells herself, and speaks to her shoes, quickly, “Not that it would be the worst thing ever, because it wouldn’t be, just for the record, I mean you’re pretty much the only one I’d consider - consider? God, that’s a dumb word for when I mean to say _want_ , only if I stay you’re the only one that I _want_ , it sounds like a song, and - “

He takes gentle hold of her hands and Daisy stops rambling, looking up suddenly to find that he’s walked up to her. She’s got chills, they’re multiplying.

“You can’t mean,” Coulson starts, a gentle whisper.

“I mean it,” she cuts him off, because now it dawns on her. He wasn’t uncomfortable, he was awkward in the face of possible rejection. And it becomes imperative that she demonstrate that she isn’t going to reject him, so she grabs him by the lapels of his jacket and crushes her mouth against his.

Their teeth knock together, pain shooting up to her brain, and she darts back with an apologetic, “I’m sorry, ow-”

“Ow,” Coulson adds, holding his lower lip which looks swollen right now. But only half in a good way.

They look at each other silently for a moment, and then burst out laughing.

“Yeah, don’t tell anyone I was that smooth,” she asks, between laughing and stepping closer to him.

“Wouldn’t do that to your reputation,” he says, wrapping one arm around her waist and pulling her against his chest. Her breath hitches; damn, Coulson’s got moves. Her knees feel made of jelly already.

“Try again?” she asks, breathlessly; almost begs.

He just kisses her. There’s nothing ‘just’ about it. It’s gentle and careful enough, but it’s full of curiosity and know-how. He pries her lips apart with a soft lick of his tongue, has her moaning with the grip on the hair at the nape of her neck, and explores her, savours her, until she remembers that it’s a two-way street and explores him back.

When they remember to breathe, he deviates down and kisses the side of her neck like he’s been starving for it, and she pushes him down onto the couch and straddles his lap.

With gentle fingers, she combs through his hair, and steals his smiles and keeps them for later, for rainy days, for when she doesn’t have this.

“So is this - “ Coulson begins, his hands on her waist. “There’s nothing wrong, I want you to know, if you only want a casual thing out of this - “

“I love you,” she says, because she’s good at interrupting him dramatically.

His blue eyes get wide, and then soft, and then crinkled in a smile. “Good.”

“Huh.”

“No, yeah, I mean, I absolutely love you too.”

“Right.”

“I do, Daisy.”

She can’t tease him (or herself) any longer, so she simply leans in and kisses him again, letting her hand trail down his chest, lower, lower, lower, “Oh - fuck - _Daisy_...”

She smirks against his lips. Yeah. The way he says her name like it’s the most precious thing? That hasn’t changed at all.

What has changed is the way she finally understands it, when he does. It’s the best change so far.


End file.
